When we have angels flying Low.......

A friend of mine, lets call her Anne, (because it’s her real name anyway), recently made friends with a street child, and I can see the bond is quite the real thing. A sneak peak into their bond, well … let me not get there, it will be the story for another day.

In short, Anne needed to contact Mama Mercy, who runs a Childrens home in the thick of Huruma slums. First of all, I know Mama Mercy is an angel who flies low, and Anne is also a lady with a special kind of heart. The thought of a tag team between the two power-ladies got me thinking something close to a Love Bomb, like what would happen when a grenade filled with love crashed with another one filled with more love, with both their pins out.

Its early Monday morning, Anne calls, and as usual, her casual humor, which always twists around some friendly low shot.

“Steve, you thought I was not serious about the deal right.. Talk to mama and tell me what she says, sawa?” Am sensoring a big chunk of the opening statement.

“Ee-er.. .Gooodmorning Anne, eehhh…” I got a little wordless.

“Am waiting and hoping on you…” She slammed.

The phone hang up, depriving me of that chance to explain myself.  

The option on my hands was one – call Mama Mercy. Don’t get it twisted, not that I did not want to call her, heavens no.. BUT the problem is, its been a minute since we talked, since I called her, or since I even visited her orphanage for supper or just impromptu.

Finally I gather the courage, get some ‘mkopo’ airtime and dial “Mama Mercy – Good Samaritan”.

My heart races as the first ringback beep goes, then the second, and I wonder if she will even answer, am sure it’s a poor timing, since morning is the time she is helter-skelter preparing her five hundred and something for school, and preventing others from falling off the half-built shelter in their morning rush.

On the third beep I hear the voice, lively as ever, full of life and enthusiasm.

“Ooooh Steve…!! How are you doing..!” Well, I know myself as one with many words, but they at this moment ran out. Wait, she still had my number, (I had lost her and took months getting it back)..

“Steve.. Steve.. are you there..?” She asks, seemingly quite puzzled.

“Heeeey mama mercy..!” I force an ounce of enthusiasm, though it’s as flat as a krest when watching a game of football go down the crapper.  “It’s been so long, how are you?”

“I have been fantastic, blessings blessings here, my children are fine, we are growing big, and I bet some of the kids cant even remember their lost friend, you rememb………..” She goes on and on about the kids, telling me how big one Imanu has grown, he can even utter some words, how the schoolers are improving on their grades, and how the cows she rears in the slums have since sired and how I need to go there for some milk. (Yes, you read right, she has huge cows in the slums , huger than those we have back in the village).

“So mama, do you have any new ones..?” I believe we are good friends now, and am allowed to drop a joke regarding important issues. Mama mercy collects kids in the slum, all ages, from infants who have been deserted to big kids who want a home. By new ones I meant any of the two.

She took a pause, like she was thinking.. like she was pondering.. like she was trying to hold back something but it was eating her up. I just let her be, knowing well she would give.

“…. Well Steve, you see, you really need to visit us.” Her tone had changed to a serious one. I stopped walking for a second and leaned by a dying post.

“I have a few more kids, I have a boy who is 8 days old, he was brought here a week ago, and he is picking up well….” At this point I remember the story of one Imanu, abandoned a few days old, who is now all grown up, walking completely on his own. “You should see him, he looks like an angel.”

I let her go on, “I have another one who has been here three months…….. and another girl wh………….” She goes on, but am no longer concentrating, my mind is still on the 8 year old.

“Wait, Steve, I have another kid who was brought recently, he is unfortunately HIV Positive, but he has now joined up with the other kids who are on ARVs, and I think he will be just fine. ..”

Am now confused, it’s my mind’s turn to wander away, the last time we visited the home in an evening with one Sorghum, everything turned really cold, (not the chicken parts, those were awesome).. Everything turned cold when we were requested to help a few kids who were taking their ARV dosage for the night. It was a night I realized what life really revolves around, and it was a night I hit a new low emotionally. I always believe in every child deserving a happy upbringing, and an entirely happy childhood, but here is a 4 year old, who will have to take pills for the rest of his life, and most probably with nobody to ever tell him why it happens.

“When will I ever stop taking these medicines? I don’t really like them…” One of them asks a caretaker lady at the orphanage, let me call her Jane. Jane looks at us, we are both confused, Sorghum stares at his palms, I stare back at her as expressionlessly as possible.

“When you get better you won’t take them anymore..” Jane says, in a confidence she has perfected over time, knowing they would never understand the reason. She looks back at us, shakes her head slightly enough for the kids not to notice, but vigorously enough for us to read her never ending predicament. The kids smiled back, and as usual opened their mouths wide enough to prove that they had swallowed the pills, then ran out to the other kids, oblivious of what was really eating them.

“…. Steve, Steve…” Mama called me back to reality. “So you said you will come over? Supper will be good, and come with your tall friend, yes, Alex, come and dine with the kids..”

Then I hang up, forgot all about Anne’s request (I had to do it latter on in the mid morning)..  and in the matatu to work, I reminisced the evenings with children all around us, playing and then finally falling asleep one after the other, so peacefully in the middle of one of the harshest slums, undisturbed just because a lady had offered them what everyone one had not – Love.